At the end of last year, I wrote about a federal law that outlaws the sale of 100-watt incandescent light bulbs after 2012 and 40-watt incandescent bulbs after 2014. In another post, I speculated (only half jokingly) about where such stupid nanny-state legislation might lead.

Texas Congressman Ted Poe (see above) recently made a speech on the floor of the House of Representatives highlighting the lunacy of the use of those stupid squiggly “energy saving” bulbs. It’s a good speech, even though it appears that he spoke to a largely empty chamber, which doesn’t surprise me. Politicians care about two things and only two things — getting elected and, once elected, staying in office.

As I’ve said before, this crap is just the beginning, and you can damned well laminate that for your wallet.

That’s what I got — nuttin’, unless you count mucous.

Even this vocal Barack _______ Obama supporter and friend of Reverend Wright is troubled by the candidate’s flip-flops.

He also reveals that it was the Jooooos who were responsible for the assassination of JFK. Who knew?

Via C&S

In Unity, New Hampshire, Hillary ate a turd on marbled rye.

For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her, but it passed. Musta been gas.

OK, so I managed to drag my sick ass through the rest of the work week. Gallons of water, lots of vitamin C, Robitussin and Doctor Doctor’s prescription. The three-minute walk from the office to the Big, Fat, Black Capitalist Car seemed to take a half hour in the heat and humidity.

So, what would be a curative way to spend the evening? Bed? Tea with a little honey and lemon and a slug of dark rum?

No!

Why rest and recuperate when you can schlep off to the THEE-ah-tah to watch the performance of a musical involving a large blood-sucking, man-eating plant?

Made a new appointment with the dentist, as I was too sick to keep the most recent one. I went to visit Doctor Doctor after work about the crud that accompanied me from Hawaii (I’ve been properly schooled not to wait). He poked, prodded, listened, shined lights on various orafices and confirmed that I will likely live. He provided me with some meds (meds you can drink with, of course) and advised me to “rest whenever you can.” I’m sure that advice contemplated my not sitting in front of this computer at ridiculous hours writing goofy shit.

Besides, today was Mrs. Parkway’s birthday, so I spent my “blogging time” having a cocktail with Mrs. Parkway on the deck.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll have the will and energy to get back to the goofy shit.

Hasta la pizza.

Feeling too lousy to blog.

Drank lots of fluids (water, smartasses) and slept for damned near 24 hours. Feeling considerably better today, but still FTLTB.

Later.

The Good. Hawaiian beer. The local brews on Kauai and Kona are, quite simply, excellent. On Kauai, the Keoki Brewery and Waimea Brewery offer up suds that will properly quench a rain-forest thirst, and while on the Big Island one should not miss the Kona Brewing Company’s Fire Rock Pale Ale and the Longboard Lager. I tried to drink enough to pick out a fave, but I couldn’t decide, so I left some for youse guys.

The Not-So-Good. Street signs. For the approximately 8,000 people who actually speak Hawaiian and the thousands more Islanders who are accustomed to seeing the various repetitive combination of mostly vowels, street signs post no problem. However, for us mainlanders, trying to read street signs from a fast-moving car is a bitch.

”Yo, Jimbo. What was the name of that street we just passed?”

“Damned if I know. I saw a bunch of O’s, U’s and A’s. We better turn around.”

The Bad. Hawaiian popcorn. I’m prepared to admit that the bag I got could have been an outlier, but all I can say is that an unpopped kernel busted one of my teeth (could have been a crown, I’m not sure). Fortunately, it didn’t result in any pain while on the Islands, but I will be in the dentist’s chair tomorrow in order to assess the dental and financial damage.

The Ugly. Ass-Kicking Cold. Since yesterday, I have been sporting a gorilla-stompin’, coughing, hacking and wheezing cold. My guess is that it came from spending all that time in multiple planes surrounded by dipshits who think coughing and sneezing while not covering their pieholes is OK. I feel and look like Fido’s ass at the moment, and as soon as I post this turd I will seek the world of horizontal.

Aloha.

Yes, we arrived back in the Garden State after spending ten days in Hawaii: five days in Kauai (also written and pronounced Kaua’i) followed by five days in Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii for the Band Reunion. Yesterday, I was too dragass tired to write anything, and today I was busy catching up with other things to sufficiently collect my thoughts to make them readworthy.

Still, rather than putting off writing something for yet another day, I thought I would just jot down a few thoughts and supplement them later if they seem worthy of your time and mine.

Kauai
I absolutely loved the place. It is beautiful beyond description, and the peeps are super. We spent several days driving around the island visiting places such as the Kilauea Lighthouse (see above – the northernmost point on the main Hawaiian Islands) and Waimea Canyon. Frankly, it is difficult to drive anywhere in Kauai and not be captivated by the beauty of the place.

On our final night in Kauai before we would pack up to fly to Honolulu and then into Kona for the reunion, we ate here (the photos do not do the place justice). The owner of the place greets and seats the guests and circulates around making sure everything is just so. In addition to serving fabulous food in a beautiful atmosphere, the place featured an amazing harpist during dinner. After a few pre-dinner cocktails and a couple bottles of wine, I took a trip to the men’s room. Upon reentering the restaurant area, slightly buzzed, I mistook the harpist who was on a break for the owner and complimented him on the excellent food. The harpist looked at me as if I had just fallen off a turnip truck. On my way out, I made sure I dropped a fiver in the harpist’s tip cup to atone for my douchebaggery.

The Reunion
It is impossible to describe how much fun it is to reunite with peeps you’ve been friends with for decades and with whom you’ve played music decades ago and to actually play together again. We rented a sound system and a drum set (a beautiful, new set of Ludwigs). I brought my guitar (the electric) to play when I wasn’t playing drums. We played a bunch of the old songs and a bunch of “new” ones as well. Some turned out great, some OK, and some were a complete train wreck, which are always great fun. Stories are told and retold, and they seem to get funnier with each retelling.

The gang did a bit of site seeing during the day, including a mandatory re-visit to Laupahoehoe Park (we happened upon the place four years ago), which, to me, is one of the more beautiful places on earth. It is the site on which a 1946 tsunami swept twenty-four teachers and students out to sea.

We also re-visited the Kilauea Volcano, which is currently quite active since its most recent eruption in March of this year – so much so that the road that circled the Kilauea crater four years ago is now closed. We were there at night, which provides a dramatic view of the 75-100 foot wide crater full of boiling molten rock.

Random Stuff

1. The trip involved more flying than I am accustomed to:

Newark to Houston
Houston to Honolulu
Honolulu to Kauai
Kauai to Honolulu
Honolulu to Kona
Kona to Honolulu
Honolulu to Newark (nine + hours on that one)

After the mandatory safety instructions on each flight, I think I have finally mastered the details of buckling and unbuckling Mr. Seatbelt.

2. Walking around in airports with another guy my age, each of us carrying a guitar case begets some attention. I was carrying a rectangular electric guitar case and at least two airport types asked me if I was carrying firearms in the case. I immediately decided that making jokes (e.g. “Why yes. Glad you asked. This here baby is a fifty caliber sniper rifle.”) was not a wise idea.

Most of the time we got the “Who are those guys?” looks. However the cake taker was the lady who saw me getting off the plane with the guitar case and said, “As soon as I saw you I knew you were a magician.” Go figure.

3. At the bars in Honolulu Airport everyone is required by law to show proof of age. Showing my face was not enough. When I was in Tennessee, I also had to show proof of age, but there the clerk actually entered my birth date on the receipt. In Honolulu Airport, they just look at it and hand it back to you. WTF?

4. Oh, and another thing about the bars in Honolulu Airport. Don’t plan on getting drunk unless you’re prepared to leave some money behind. Black Russians go for thirteen bucks a pop. Holey Smokie!

5. I discovered Ocean Vodka, which is made in Maui. I give it an A++. If you find yourself in Hawaii, buy a bottle for the freezer. Unfortunately, it does not appear to be available in New Jersey. Drat!

Mahalo for reading this drivel.

Update: I would like to thank Elisson, Teresa, Eric and Dogette for keeping things alive and hopping around here while I was away. Oh, and did I mention that there are NO ALLIGATORS IN HAWAII? YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!

Yesterday, as the Missus, the Mistress of Sarcasm, and I drove from Destin, Florida to Savannah, Georgia, we found ourselves traversing a part of the Nation’s Landscape made famous by the eminent cartoonist Walt Kelly.

I speak, of course, of the Okefenokee Swamp…or as Walt would have it, the “Okeefenokee.” Home of Pogo Possum, Howland Owl, Churchy LaFemme, Miz Hepzibah, and numerous others.

And, of course, Albert the Alligator.

Of course, thinking of Albert made me think of Jimbo, who is legendarily averse to oversize reptiles of any kind. Jimbo’s dislike of gators borders on the pathological, unless you step back a moment and consider that it’s not entirely unreasonable to harbor a certain distaste for a creature that is capable of grabbing you in its monstrous jaws, hauling you underwater until you drown, then parking your carcass several days until it softens enough to be extra palatable and easy to gnaw upon.

It’s no wonder Jim hates alligators. Fact is, I believe Jim would rather be pretty much any place on Earth other than in the Okefenokee Swamp.

And yet, I know Jim well enough to know that he is, despite his Army o’ Peculiar Dislikes, a man who is willing to face his fears, to surmount the Pharookin’ Phobias that keep a person from leading a happy and fulfilled life.

So it was not a complete surprise when, as we drove through Waycross, Georgia – smack dab in the heart of the Okefenokee – I glanced out the window and saw – thought I saw, anyway – something… something vaguely familiar…